


Cas, optime fellas (English)

by carrionofmywaywardson



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Actor!Cas, F/M, Gladiator!Dean, M/M, Roman!AU, Slave!Cas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-05
Updated: 2014-06-05
Packaged: 2018-02-03 13:18:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1746074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carrionofmywaywardson/pseuds/carrionofmywaywardson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just a short scene in a theater.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cas, optime fellas (English)

Usually, people don’t look Corvinus’ Bitches in the eyes, but there’s a special kind of daredevil who does it without any fear - women. Funny, that it’s the seemingly weaker sex who feels so safe in their company - unless one of them is standing on the wrong side of a Bitch’s sword, in the arena or in a dark alley of Rome. But even then, female warriors or assassins prefer to look them in the eye rather than watch the threatening blade, knowing well that it’s the eyes that betray a gladiator’s next move, and not the deceptive sway of his sword.

Even young men, even the most daring ones, can’t withstand Dean’s stare when they flirt with him; they turn their eyes down coyly and peek from under their lashes, subconsciously knowing that too much staring could provoke him to attack. Dean is like a wild animal, the wildest of Corvinus’ Hell’s Bitches, and woe to those who will try to challenge him.

Of course there is one exception.

Dean hops out of the room where the actors dress up for the next scene and starts walking back to his seat, leather cuirass crunching and bronze elements of his armor clanging cheerfully.

"Could you find some time for me, gladiator?" a woman with heavy makeup crowds him, flirtatiously pressing a hand with spread fingers on his breastplate without the slightest embarrassment.

Dean answers with a broad smile and a wink.

"Duty calls, ma’am, but I’ll remember your offer."

The woman chuckles and plays with her hair, and then returns to her husband, who tries unsuccessfully to pretend that he didn’t see anything, his face crimson with rage. Dean amusedly notices his senatorial toga, and recognizes the humiliated husband as Mark Cato, the guy with the biggest - in Dean’s opinion - stick up his ass in the history of Roman politics. He snorts contemptuously, earning himself a withering glare, wonders briefly what someone like Cato is doing in such an openly irreverent place like a theater playing a comedy, but he loses interest as quickly as he found it.

Dean returns to his seat, ignoring Crowley’s scowl and Sam’s condemning glare, from where he’s squashing his gigantic form on the other side of their boss. Before he sits down, he takes a look over the audience, searching for any suspicious movement - this is why he’s here, after all: to protect Crowley’s ass. He owes it to him - if it wasn’t for Crowley, Dean would’ve still been rotting on Alastor’s rack, slowly turning into one of those mindless killing machines his ludus is famous for. He was lucky that day, when Crowley visited Alastor, seemingly to establish friendly relations with the other lanista, and in fact sniffing in search of prey. Lucky, that Crowley is a natural born merchant and can spot a lump of gold hidden in a pile of dung. Lucky, that Alastor was in a good mood and agreed to sell the slave who was giving him the most trouble with no resistance. So, Dean owes Crowley, but not only that; after years of murderous training, Crowley has finally liberated and hired him and his brother, whom Dean had found by lucky chance in a group of gladiators, just before entering the arena. The fight with Sam was such a fantastic spectacle that the delighted Romans had gratiously decided to spare Sam’s life after he’d finally fallen to the bloody sand. And thank the gods for merciful, fun-loving Romans, because Dean, even in his warrior frenzy that blinded him in the arena, would not be able to kill his own brother, who he had just found after years of separation. Redeeming Sam had cost Crowley a small fortune, but he’d done it without a murmur, rightly sensing that the young Celt would be a good investment. The two of them now worked as Crowley’s personal bodyguards - not just to pay back their debt then, but also the purely material promise of regular pay makes Dean’s eyes extremely vigilant as they sweep the crowd. Those on which his green eyes fall quickly turn away. Only a madman would dare to raise a hand on someone whose back is guarded by Dean and Sam of Winchester, whose name in the ears of superstitious Romans sounds almost like ‘winners’ and effectively scares off any potential attackers.

Crowley - or Corvinus to Romans - is Celt, like Dean and his brother; a self-proclaimed merchant who must have come to Rome at the time when the She-wolf suckled its founder, because there is no man that didn’t know him forever or longer; he says that once he’d set his foot at Porta Capena, the City immediately sucked him into her open arms, just like a whore’s greedy hole swallows dick between her widely spread legs. Rome had remade him in her own image, starting with the change of his name, and ending with his lifestyle. Crowley calls himself a businessman, but Dean knows that under this noble name hides a cunning, ruthless rat who, on a sudden whim, invested in a poorly thriving gladiator school, bought it and transformed it into a beast factory that now trains merciless killers, even more efficient than Alastor’s, and is known among the lanistas as Crowley’s Kennel. His gladiators are fierce, cruel, and just as unstoppable as the Furies themselves, so Crowley calls them his Hell’s Bitches, finding in this name a source of constant delight. The story goes, that in the old country he’d used to breed dogs for fights.

"If I don’t understand even a word of what he says, I’ll have you both flogged," hisses Crowley, scowling at Dean. "I came here for aesthetic purposes, to enjoy the art of the word, and not to listen to your boyfriend violating the text, choking on your fucking come."

"I don’t know what you mean, sir," Dean’s face is a blank mask, as innocent as the mask Cas is donning in tonight’s play.

"Just wait till Megaera finds out what you’re doing with her slave, before the eyes of the Roman people, in the theater!" Crowley throws his hands up as if he’s just described the worst crime ever, as if Dean didn’t know about his less than pious visits in the temple of Vesta. "It’s not my business, you can fuck him in every hole that suits you, but by the gods, Dean, don’t push your luck!"

Out of respect for his boss, Dean doesn’t shrug or roll his eyes, even though he knows that Meg would never allow her husband to lay a finger on her most beautiful slave, who not only earns her considerable money, being the best impersonator of female roles in this decade, but also provides her with a number of other services, no less satisfactory, according to Dean, if only he performs them half as good as with Dean. Meg calls Castiel ‘her unicorn’ and apparently she considers this an endearing nickname, even though Dean is almost certain that he’s seen an effigy of a unicorn in Crowley’s library, and that it’s a hairy, ugly beast with thick, short legs and the mouth of an idiot, which he wouldn’t let into his house, let alone his bed. Well, unless by ‘horn’ Meg means something else than the thing that grows from the head of the mythical monster. Cas insists that Meg doesn’t know about them, but Dean isn’t so sure. Although, knowing Meg, if she knew, she would probably order them to do it in front of her, in her bedroom, not even necessarily with her. Like all women of Rome, Meg is obsessed with naked, sweaty men, whether murdering each other in the arena, or fucking each other senseless.

An actor appears on the stage, walking in a long, yellow robe, his face hidden under the mask that makes Dean’s dick throb wistfully. The mask is white, has long blond curly hair interwoven with colorful ribbons and ornaments, huge blue eyes and red lips, wide open so that the voice of the actor could reach the furthest rows. From his seat Dean can’t see it clearly, but he knows that the wooden cheeks are decorated with dried streaks of his come, and the thought makes him smirk.

Castiel delivers his lines in a voice higher than his natural one, clear and absolutely not croaky, as if he hadn’t his throat fucked raw only minutes ago. Dean grins again. The bastard must have had a cup of honeyed water hidden somewhere, ready to rinse his throat and get rid of the slutty hoarseness. Nothing, however, can hide- at least not from Dean - the way in which Castiel is moving more cautiously than usual, bunching the front of his dress in his hands in a seemingly shy gesture, raising it to hide his raging hard on. It’s a real miracle, real talent, that Castiel is still able to concentrate enough to flawlessly recite the stupid lines of his character, when he’s probably mentally far away from here, in Crowley’s pantry, tearing the wall with his nails and screaming in that heavenly voice of his, but now absolutely fucked out and almost not human, while Dean fucks him like an animal, mercilessly, the way they both like.

Dean fidgets awkwardly on the bench and licks his lips, thinking that when tonight comes he will make Cas kneel again and the eyes that will look up at him won’t be painted, but alive, wet and full of fire. And they won’t turn away.

**Author's Note:**

> Biggest thanks to my lovely Beta, [Hallie](http://possibly-an-obsession.tumblr.com/)!!! All mistakes are my own. This is a 100% AU and every historical inaccuracy is completely deliberate.
> 
> The title is a reference to a graffiti found in Pompeii, "Myrtis, bene fellas", and means "Cas, you're the best cocksucker" :D
> 
> lanista- owner of a gladiator school (ludus).
> 
> ludus- a place where the gladiators were trained.
> 
> Corvinus- Crowley (corvus means a crow.)
> 
> Furies- avenging deities, often portrayed with dog's heads (and called Hell's bitches or hounds of Hell).
> 
> Alastor, Megaera- Greek names, because I wanted for at least two Spn characters to have more or less accurate ancient names.
> 
> ...of Winchester- this is a terrible anachronism, because of course the name of the city wasn't Winchester back then. There was no city at all and it certainly wasn't inhabited by Celts. "Winchester" sounds a bit similar to "vincens" (pronounced "winkens"), which means "the winning one".


End file.
